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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612350">Refuge</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlpheccaCoronae/pseuds/AlpheccaCoronae'>AlpheccaCoronae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Tags to Be Added, All of my OCs start as self inserts okay we don’t have to talk about it., Family Relationships - Freeform, Gen, I really love my OC by the way they’re very cool :), Mentions of Blood, No baby yoda I’m sorry :(, No serious spoilers but I’d be careful anyway, Past Slavery, Platonic Relationships, Rated teen for dark topics and violence, just so you know, okay so maybe I’m a lesbian and I want the mandalorian to be my dad is that so much to ask, unbeta’d</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:48:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlpheccaCoronae/pseuds/AlpheccaCoronae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Din doesn’t like to take slave bounties. He can never find it in himself to turn them in. </p><p>But he’s getting desperate. Every other bounty these days is barely worth the cost of the fuel, and if he’s honest with himself he’s running out of money fast. </p><p>So when a ludicrously expensive bounty is offered to him he does the unthinkable. He forgoes what few morals he has left and he takes the puck. </p><p>It’s the best decision he ever makes. </p><p>———</p><p>Or perhaps I just wanted to write indulgent platonic self insert fanfiction where the mandalorian is my dad. Come and join me :)</p><p>**abandoned**</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin &amp; Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi!<br/>I really haven’t written anything in a very long time, I’ve no idea what possessed me to write this of all things lmao<br/>Either way thank you for reading! Comments would make me very happy and if not kudos are wonderful too :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Din doesn’t like to take slave bounties. They leave a sour taste in his mouth.</p><p>He’s never paid much attention to what his marks say as he drags them kicking and screaming to meet their fate. Frenzied pleading for mercy he can deal with. The inane chatter of the anxious is annoying at worst, but something about the defeated silence that slaves meet him with makes him want to scream. </p><p>The last slave bounty he had taken wasted three days of his time tracking the mark just for it to end in him being too soft to take her in. He showed up back at the guild for the first time in years with no bounty to show. </p><p>Logically he knows it doesn’t make a difference, some other bounty hunter will take the puck and take them in. Realistically he knows it’s probably better for them if he does take them in himself. He’s met people that only take slave bounties for the excuse to act out some sick power fantasy over those without the strength or resolve to fight back. </p><p>But he can’t do it. Hasn’t in years. </p><p>Greef knows this. He doesn’t even bother offering him the jobs anymore, but after Din’s recent protests about the low bounties and high fuel costs he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket with a sigh and pulls out a single puck. </p><p>“I have one last option, but-“</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Bounty’s one million credits. The mark has to be alive and unharmed.”</p><p>Din’s eyes go wide behind the Beskar helmet. He hates himself for even considering it. It’s bound to end badly, it’s immoral, it’s- </p><p>It is a lot of money. And it’s just one job. One job and he’ll never have to take another slave bounty again. One unpleasant job probably set by some rich idiot who had never priced a bounty in their life, and then Din could be as selective as he liked with the bounties he chose for a long time. He can deal with that. </p><p>Besides, who is he to talk about morality. As if he hasn’t worked for years ending people’s lives for money. </p><p>He despises his decision even as he grabs the puck and tracker off the table between them, avoiding looking at the target’s face.</p><p>“Don’t bail on this one, Mando. I’m counting on you.”</p><p>He leaves the bar without saying a word. </p><p>———</p><p>The bar he finds the target in is vile. </p><p>Years of spilt drinks that coat the wooden floor cling to the the sole of his boots. The obnoxious smell of years-old grime and filth that nobody has ever bothered to clean up seeps beneath his helmet with mildly concerning speed as soon as he crosses the threshold. It’s not exactly the place he would choose to frequent under any circumstances, but his intel is good and as promised a hooded figure sits huddled in a shadowy corner, nursing a drink. </p><p>Din ignores the countless eyes weighing on him as he makes his way across the room. This place is swarmed with criminals, no doubt at least half of the patrons are petty theives sweating over the prospect of a bounty slung around their neck. They’re almost comedic in their inability to feign indifference, silently sipping cheap liquor as he passes. </p><p>Din draws nearer to the secluded corner of the bar his target is cowering in, boots obnoxiously loud against the relative silence that has fallen over the bar. The hooded figure doesn’t look up, but tenses in their seat. They know he’s here for them. He stops in front of their table, hand hovering threateningly over the blaster on his belt. </p><p>“You know why I’m here.”</p><p>The figure doesn’t look up. Their hand grips the handle of the mug tighter. Din presses on. </p><p>“I’m bringing you in. I recommend you come quietly.”</p><p>They drain their drink, giving Din a glance at curious deep red skin beneath the cloak. Certainly not human, and too dark to be twi’lek. He had expected his mark to be either of the two, especially one prized highly enough to be marked by bounty hunters. All of the slaves he’d seen on bounty pucks before had been. Din can’t help but question that ridiculously high bounty again. </p><p>They stand from their seat once they’ve finished, surprising the Mandalorian. They wrap their arms around themself in a show of submission, keeping the hood deliberately low, and indicate for Din to take the lead exit the bar. </p><p>His instincts scream at him not to let a mark out of his sight, let alone unwatched behind his back. But surely an escaped slave can’t pose too great a threat, even for one so successful at evading capture. </p><p>Bad choice. </p><p>When an elbow comes to knock him off balance as soon as the door shuts behind them, he’s not ready for it. He goes to reach for his blaster, set to stun, but he’s thrown off balance and isn’t quick enough to beat the staff the mark produces from behind their back. Small, wooden, no longer than a few feet. It connects with his wrist and knocks the blaster to the floor. </p><p>The bounty rounds on him as he quickly steps back into a defensive stance, putting all of their energy into a flurry of attacks aimed precisely at Din’s helmet and the unprotected areas between his armour. They must have been trained, no inexperienced slave could set him back on his heels like this. Din blocks every attack to his head, neck, stomach, but it’s all he can do to prevent himself from being stabbed in the ribs. </p><p>He pulls back suddenly, interrupting the flow of the attacker’s rhythm, and reaches down to his vambrace, firing a small flash grenade at his bounty’s feet, forcing them to stumble back and allowing him to gain some distance and assess the situation.</p><p>As they dart back the hood falls from their head, revealing ruby red skin and shocking black facial tattoos, complete with a crown of small horns poking out from the top of their skull. A zabrak? Zabrak slaves were highly unusual. They were regarded as too stubborn. Too disobedient. This one certainly looks it, but that does at least begin to explain the huge bounty attached to this strange situation. Din itches to reach to his belt for his blaster, but it’s location lying on the dusty ground would mean crouching down to pick up and leave him vulnerable to another flurry of attacks. </p><p>He stares for another second as the two come to an impasse, this time his confusion morphing into dawning horror. He takes another look at the target’s wide eyes. Their short height and soft facial structure. This is a child. No older than adolescence at the latest, and so vary scared it has cycled right back into defensive anger. Din curses himself. He knew he would regret taking this job. </p><p>They snarl, revealing a peculiar set of shiny metal teeth, each one sharp and pointed, menacing in their dissonant setting. </p><p>Before Din can fully parse the information before him the young zabrak has yet again begun attacking. Those uncomfortable teeth part as the staff begins a new flurry of movements and the zabrak grows further fatigued and agitated. This time Din is prepared. The kid is predictable, falling back on the same reliable patterns when panicked. Din blocks a hit from the left, the right, to the head, has hands moving into place before they have even attacked. He has this fight under control, he just needs to find an opening to land an incapacitating hit. </p><p>He takes a step back to allow room for his attack, but the kid steps right into his space, grinning, an elbow makes strong contact with the bottom of his helmet and he finds himself falling back, a foot hooked benind his leg. </p><p>He hits the ground at full force, winded for just a moment - but it’s a moment too long. The bounty turns and runs, and it’s all Din can do to shoot out his grappling cable from where he lies on the floor and pray that it hits. </p><p>It does. The zabrak is yanked back by their cloak, falling to the ground as their legs slip out from under them, staff flying from their grip far from their reach. A pained grunt escapes from their chest, but they don’t slow down. They climb back up to their feet in an instant, and so does Din. He’s ready this time. He grabs his blaster from where it has been lying in the dirt oh his way up, and trains it on the bounty. </p><p>He tugs a little on the grappling cable, a warning. The zabrak holds their ground, surprisingly strong as they dig their feet into the ground. </p><p>Din sighs. </p><p>“Last chance,” he warns. “Are you going to keep fighting, or are you going to make this easier for the both of us?”</p><p>The kid stares icily at him, still pulling away on the cable. They glance down to the blaster. </p><p>Their eyes move back up to Din’s T-visor, and they know they’ve lost, but they seem like they are never going to allow themself give up. That they can’t. </p><p>They advance a few steps into a half-hearted lunge, and Din’s finger squeezes the trigger. They fall forwards into the dirt, arms just coming up in time to protect them.</p><p>———</p><p>Din doesn’t exactly love what he’s just done. Tying an unconscious child to a support beam in the cargo hold of his ship and abducting them off-planet wasn’t exactly what he pictured himself doing when he took the job. He ignores the fact that it’s not really that far off. </p><p>But he couldn’t just leave them knocked out in the dirt, and leaving them uncuffed wasn’t an option, no doubt they’d sneak up to the cockpit and kill him in his seat. It’s what he would do after all.   </p><p>It doesn’t make him feel any better about it. </p><p>Either way, the ship is drifting through hyperspace towards a sparsely populated nearby planet, where he can restock supplies and fuel, and Din is finally allowing himself a moment to collect his thoughts now that the situation is under control. Though he still hasn’t figured out what he is going to do with the kid. All he knows is he can’t take them back, he can’t take them in to the guild. Not a child. </p><p>This was no normal slave. The ridiculous bounty should have clued him in, really, but he chose to ignore that in order to allow himself to hope for an easy job. Then there’s the matter of their race. Zabrak slaves are not unheard of, but the few that do exist are usually used for manual labour and the like, and as skilled as the child was in combat their body had felt shockingly light when Din carried them back to the relative safety of the Razor Crest. And those teeth. They still make Din uncomftorble to think about even now, their harsh, artificial points burnt into his mind. </p><p>He is jolted from his thoughts by the harsh noise of metal rattling against metal, and shoots up from his seat, flicking a switch on the console to ensure the ship is set to autopilot. </p><p>The rattling gets even more frantic as Din descends the ladder, and as he steps into the floor of the cargo hold he looks over to the far corner to see the kid huddled in their robe, cowering as far from him as they can. Their arms are bent at an awkward angle and still chained to the support beam by their wrists as they try to widen the distance between them. They’re breathing heavily, eyes blown wide in panic and mouth set into a pained grimace.</p><p>Din glances down to their hands and sees a small puddle of blood dripping onto the cold metal floor from where they’ve struggled hard enough against the cuffs to rip at the skin of their wrists. Shit. His heart sinks. </p><p>“Hey, hey, look it’s okay.” Din crouches down and creeps closer to the zabrak, who pulls away even further, straining their arms and causing the cuffs to dig even deeper. He inches backwards in an attempt to calm them down. </p><p>“I’m not going to hurt you, I only tied you up so you wouldn’t come attack me while we’re taking off.” he tries. </p><p>The kid seems entirely unconvinced, but they stop pulling so hard at the cuffs and look at him curiously. </p><p>Unsurprisingly, he can’t find an answer to whatever question the zabrak refuses to ask, and they both stew in awkward silence for a minute.</p><p>He takes another look at their features, and Din’s stomach churns at the vast collection of scars that dissect the black tattoos covering their face. Most look old, faded into the deep red of their skin, the smaller ones now only visible because of how they split apart the intricate black designs of the tattoos.</p><p>Usually Din welcomes silence, but for some reason this feels different. Like a heavy weight hanging in the air between them, threatening in its impenetrability. It makes him want to scream. </p><p>“So do you not talk at all because this whole thing is gonna be much easier if we can communicate.” </p><p>The zabrak looks away for the first time, deep black eyes darting around the room, before settling back on Din. Somehow they look even more uncomfortable than before, but they fix him with an uncomfortable look and open their mouth. </p><p>At first all they succeed in doing is startling him (he really doesn’t like those teeth), but the gleaming metal separates and he isn’t immediately attacked, so he looks into the kid’s mouth. </p><p>It feels weird and invasive, looking into someone else’s mouth, so he hesitates to move closer, but the kid holds still, waiting for a reaction from him, and so he does as he’s asked and takes a deeper look, still mindful that the stranger could turn and attack him at any time. </p><p>Behind the row of awful silver teeth is a sight that makes his heart drop yet again. In place of a toungue is a short stump, cut too far back and too cleanly to have been bitten off. Din mentally swears in every language he knows, and sits back on his heels as the kid’s mouth snaps closed. </p><p>His mind reels and he looks back up at the kid’s face. They’re waiting for a response, black eyes locked on Din’s visor, nervousness rising. His throat feels blocked, he doesn’t know what to say. What could be possibly have to say. </p><p>“I see.” He finally manages. It feels like such an inadequate response that he’s almost tempted to try again, but it seems sufficient for the kid, who lets a breath out through their nose as they look away. </p><p>Din looks back over to their wrists, still sluggishly bleeding from where the cuffs have rubbed through the skin.</p><p>“Look kid, I can’t let you keep bleeding all over my floor, so if I take those cuffs off will you let me have a look at your wrists?”</p><p>The kid shakes their head violently, shrinking further back into the corner, pulling at the cuffs even harder.  Din wishes he could rub a hand over his face. </p><p>“How about I let you out, give you the medkit and you take care of it.”</p><p>It’s such a bad idea. The kid is entirely likely to attack him as soon as they get the chance. Din can’t believe that this is how he gets himself killed. </p><p>The look skeptical but nod slowly, and either way Din breaths a quiet sigh of relief. He reaches behind himself for the key, brain screaming that the kid is almost certain to turn on him immediately. It’s inevitable. Their eyes track the movement of his hand as it comes to unlock the cuffs, but as soon as the cuffs fall from their wrists all they do is pull their arms in close to their chest, folding themself into their huge robe. </p><p>“Medkit’s over there,” he gestures to a small bag hanging on the wall. “I’ll be in the cockpit. Call for me if you need anything.”</p><p>He cringes at the choice of words but the kid doesn’t react so neither does he. Din gets to his feet and turns to climb the ladder to the cockpit. He knew he should never have taken this damn job in the first place.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Din is generally a man of few regrets. Not in the sense that he has none, he’s done plenty of terrible things that he’s far from proud of. No- Din has always been remarkably good at ignoring his guilt, at compartmentalising all of his regrets and stowing them away in a remote corner of his mind to be unfailingly ignored. It’s worked so far; very rarely does he find himself dwelling on past mistakes. But right now he can’t stop himself from thinking about where he would be if he hadn’t taken that damned puck. Where the kid would be. </p><p>Snatched up by some other bounty hunter, probably. Or on the run from half of the guild; Din is so thankful that he can trust Greef not to give an identical bounty puck to every other bounty hunter in the guild. Or- not immediately at the very least, Din wouldn’t trust him that easily. And Greef was already half expecting him to come back empty handed-</p><p>He does his best to wipe the thoughts from his mind as he remembers the half-empty notebook that should be hidden away somewhere in the cockpit. It’s leather bound, old and weathered, and Din skims through the pages of bounties, coordinates, and blaster modifications with a certain nostalgia. He hasn’t used it in years, hasn’t felt the need to, but it certainly could serve some purpose now. He rips the used pages out and discards them, leaving a little under a half of the notebook left.</p><p>He really doesn’t want to go back down and face his new responsibility, but he supposes it isn’t fair to leave them alone in the cargo hold of his ship, wondering what came next. Also, he’d like to make sure they stay out of the weapons cabinet. </p><p>Notebook in hand, he climbs down the ladder. </p><p>The kid is still huddled in their corner, but they seem significantly more relaxed than before, sitting cross legged and fiddling with the wide hem of their sleeve. Their hood is once more down, and it gives him a look at the crown of small horns atop their head. Many of them are chipped or broken, and most are cracked from the base up from lack of care, which looks... uncomfortable. Din’s limited medical supplies are packed back into the bag, but it’s no longer hanging on the wall, so he hopes that means the kid has patched themself up alright. </p><p>They glance up from their hands as he comes to sit in front of them. </p><p>“You can write in basic, I hope.”</p><p>The kid nods slowly, brow furrowing, and he holds out the notebook. They eye him for a moment, but eventually must decide he’s not to great a threat, and reach out slowly to take the notebook from him. </p><p>He glances a look at their hand as the dark sleeve rides up, and is relieved to see a length of bandage wrapped neatly around their wrist. </p><p>He pauses for a moment as he allows them to flip through the blank pages of the book, and waits for them to look up at him. </p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>No response. They stare at him flatly. Of course it can’t be that easy. </p><p>Din has yet another awful idea. He hasn’t told anyone in- in decades really. Certainly nobody outside of the covert knows, and even then only a few have ever- </p><p>“My name’s Din.”</p><p>Bad, awful, terrible idea. He doesn’t know this kid. Where they come from, who they might know, he has no damn idea what they’re after. Who they could return to. </p><p>But the kid stares for just a second longer with those deep black eyes, looks down, and flips open the notebook to write something. </p><p>Din thinks he might possibly deserve a medal for his patience as the kid stares at what they’ve written, and the thought does occur to him that this could still turn out to be refusal. But after those agonising seconds they eventually turn the paper around to show him. </p><p>
  <i>Khobri.</i>
</p><p>“Khobri?” They nod. “Well it’s nice to meet you.”</p><p>The kid- Khobri looks down. They scribble a few words on the page and look back up at him with accusing eyes. </p><p>
  <i>No, it’s really not. </i>
</p><p>“What?”</p><p>
  <i>You’re a bounty hunter. You’ll turn me in. </i>
</p><p>Din sighs and hangs his head. </p><p>“I’m not gonna turn you in kid.”</p><p>He knew that, deep down, but admitting it out loud he suddenly feels as if a line has been crossed. There’s no turning back. He has committed to- to something. </p><p>He looks back up to see new words written on the parchment, and a deeply angry expression on the kid’s face. The kind of old anger that you drag with you through life, the kind that grows and festers for years. Din knows it well. </p><p>
  <i>I don’t believe you. </i>
</p><p>He looks away minutely, nothing more he can think to say. “We’re coming up on a small planet. I need to refuel and restock some supplies before we can go anywhere else. You can either stay here on the ship or come with me, your call.”</p><p>Khobri looks annoyed, but writes something down again anyway.</p><p>
  <i>I’m not staying here.</i>
</p><p>“Sure thing. You’ll know when we land.”</p><p>———</p><p>Khobri must have been hunched over before, possibly trying to minimise their height in order to make him underestimate them, because as the two stand side by side in front of the Crest’s open door Din finds they’re almost as tall as he is. He raises his eyebrows behind the helmet and they must sense his surprise in some way because they smirk sideways at him. </p><p>He’s taken aback. Is that the first time they’ve smiled? He turns his head to look at them better, but as quickly as the grin had lit up their face it’s gone, face once again stony and eyes focused forwards. </p><p>He turns back, descends the ramp, boots echoing  through the empty hangar bay. It’s all metal, floors, walls, the works- so smooth and solid that it sort of freaks Din out, so used to dusty and decrepit backwater planets as he is. </p><p>The planet of Mebion was once a lush forest world, so he’s told by his ship’s computer, but a few decades of imperial resource extraction has weathered it into a harsh rock, defined by jagged mountains and expansive but desolate salt flats. The only large town on its surface is an abandoned mining site carved into the side of a cliff face- lined with battered metal walkways and thin guardrails. From far away in the cockpit of Din’s ship it had looked like an unsettling dark durasteel forest built up to replace the lush greenery destroyed by the empire.</p><p>As soon as they step out into the bay the harsh wind hits them both. Din barely feels it thanks to the thickly padded clothing underneath his armour, but he sees Khobri suppress a shiver beside him as they pull their hood low over their head, and makes a subconscious mental note to find them something warm to wear as soon as he can. </p><p>He tosses a handful of credits at the dockmaster before the twi’lek can start a conversation, and walks through the bay door towards the adjoining market place, hyper aware of Khobri following behind him.</p><p>It’s not exactly bustling, but the thin pathways between market stalls give the place a uniquely claustrophobic feeling. Vendors yell out at the sparse crowds in hopes of selling their goods. Mothers hold their children closer and watch him with wary caution as he passes. Perhaps it may have been a good idea to leave at least the rifle back on the crest- he does tend to constantly look as though he’s looking for a fight. Din notices Khobri move in closer to his side, though he’s not sure they’re aware of it. Their eyes shift rapidly around the market, and they watch the young children and shifty-looking men of the town with an equal level of wild suspicion. </p><p>Din spots a secluded tavern door in the distance. </p><p>“You hungry kid?” They don’t stop their darting eyes but they nod either way, and Din indicates towards the tavern with a tilt of his helmet. They nod, shivering again as a gust cuts through the market, and Din carves a path through the crowd towards the battered door. </p><p>———</p><p>It’s certainly cleaner than he expects from the outside, and he feels comfortable enough with the patrons to let Khobri sit down at a table as Din goes to the counter. The waitress is polite enough, but clearly nervous at both Din and Khobri’s presence. He understands, of course. A remote ex-imperial colony in the outer rim doesn’t get much outsider footfall, and between his armour and the kid’s bright red skin they don’t do much to blend into the sea of pale-toned twi’leks and humans. </p><p>The waitress takes his money gladly, and he brings the plate back to their table, where Khobri eyes it impatiently. They’re still tense, but they’ve relaxed well enough now that they’re inside, no longer startling at the loud noises of the marketplace. </p><p>As soon as he sits down, deliberately far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to reach out and take their food if he tried, Khobri takes a tentative bite. Zabraks are carnivores, he knows that much, but the options weren’t exactly extensive. The best he could do was the one of the few dishes that actually contained meat. Khobri doesn’t seem to notice what they’re actually eating, tearing strips from the large cuts easily with their razor sharp teeth. They wolf down their food in a away that reminds him a little of a starved animal, or someone grown unused to regular, substantial meals for a long time. His chest feels tight- maybe that’s less of a metaphor than he’d like it to be. </p><p>He watches, bewildered, at his the kid eats. They’re tilting their head constantly, first to the side as they chew and then backwards to swallow. It feels like a stab in the heart when he realises how difficult it must be to swallow if you don’t have a toungue. He tries for a moment to imagine how he’d manage, and finds himself unable to come up with a better solution. Fair enough. </p><p>Khobri pauses suddenly to look up at him. Still chewing awkwardly, they reach down into the small bag hidden under their cloak and take out the book. </p><p>
  <i>You’re not eating.</i>
</p><p>“I can’t take my helmet off.” He replies. When they tilt their head in confusion he adds, “to do so would be against the creed.”</p><p>He can tell they still have no idea what he’s talking about, they want to ask more questions, but instead they write something else down and fix him with a hard look as they turn to show him. </p><p>
  <i>You need to eat. </i>
</p><p>“I will. On the ship.”</p><p>Din tries not to acknowledge the concern in Khobri’s eyes, but he has nothing to occupy himself with as they turn their attention back to the food. They care about him. They want to make sure he’s fed. Just like he does for them. Din’s so caught up in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice them writing back into the notebook. </p><p>
  <i>Do you ever take it off?</i>
</p><p>“In private. And around immediate family, that’s the only exception.” It still feels strange to tell an outsider this much about Mandalorian customs, but he supposes none of this is strictly forbidden information. Khobri gives a small nod and returns to eating, not taking their eyes off him as they tilt their head sideways to chew. </p><p>
  <i>What happens if you do?</i>
</p><p>“I can never put it back on.” </p><p>Khobri gives a somber nod. It’s honestly a surprise to Din- Most people outside of the covert tend to react to this anticlimax with a certain level of scorn, so their solemn response feels awkward and he finds he doesn’t quite know how to react. He doesn’t. </p><p>———</p><p>Din leads the charge through the market again, the crowd tends to part easily for him, while Khobri keeps close behind him. He’s been finding himself less and less wary of having them at his back over the course of the day. </p><p>He stops in front of a clothing stall, reminded of Khobri shivering in the harsh wind, and eyes a particularly thick looking fleece. He looks over his shoulder at them. </p><p>“You cold kid?”</p><p>They shrug at him, and he takes that as a yes. </p><p>He gestures to the stall. “Got a preference?”</p><p>They shake their head, overwhelmed, and Din looks back at the stall. He gestures to the salesman for the thick black fleece hanging at the back of the stall, and hands it in turn to Khobri as he forks over some of the few credits he has left to the vendor. The kid eyes him with hesitation yet again, but there’s something deeper in their expression too. Hurt? Gratitude? They take it from him gently. </p><p>They grasp the material tight in to their body, hands clutching at the softness of the fleece, and something deep in Dins heart twinges as they make eye contact as best as they can with his visor, and give him a deliberate, thankful nod.</p><p> </p><p>———</p><p>After the pair have managed the dull process of buying necessary supplies, they begin the journey back through the market and towards the ship. Din can’t help but think how unusual it is that he hadn’t become involved in some violent or destructive event. It feels strange, going on a calm and uneventful journey to buy supplies. It’s not like him. </p><p>So he finds himself unsurprised when they return to the ship to find three scavengers, a weequay and two humans, raiding his cargo hold. He groans mentally and reaches behind him to grab his rifle from his back, but before he can even take aim Khobri has leapt forwards towards the theives with an animalistic snarl. </p><p>He watches with mild horror as they lunge for the first of the scavengers, the weequay, gleaming teeth bared. The two topple over under their combined weight, and Khobri delivers a harsh blow to her face. He head slams hard against the floor of the Razor Crest. Din’s horror mounts as he sees the two others advancing on Khobri, one from behind and one from in front of them. He takes quick aim and hits the one in front, who falls to the ground with a mangled cry while Khobri turns on instinct to defend themself from the attacker behind. They aim a swift kick at the scavenger’s guts as they spin, and then another to his head after he falls to his knees. Din rushes the final few steps to the fight and aims his rifle in the face of the first scavenger as she trys to push herself up from the ground. </p><p>“Please- please don’t kill me. Please,” the weequay on the floor begs, and he’s about ready to celebrate with a dark threat delivered to the theives, when a sharp pain jolts into his side. </p><p>Khobri’s face goes slack in shock, eyes wide and panicked. The second scavenger clatters against the floor, the knife falling from his hand bloodied and dark. </p><p>Din staggers sideways, clutching a hand to his side as Khobri takes a blaster from the almost empty weapons cabinet, and shoots each scavenger dead with ruthless efficiency. His head starts swimming with muted pain. He has to lean against the side of the Razor Crest’s doorframe as the kid robotically drags each body off the ship and onto the dirty hangar floor, face set into a flat, muted expression. </p><p>They hoist the scavenger’s loot back onto the Crest with the rest of their supplies and look to him disparingly as he hunches over in pain. His gloves must be getting old- there are so many holes in them now he can already feel the warm blood seeping through to coat his fingers. He really needs to remember to get some new gloves next time he visits the covert.</p><p>A yell brings Din back to reality- the dockmaster. He’s shouting at them from across they bay and Khobri’s staring at him urgently as their eyes dart around the cargo hold. Somehow he finds the strength to push off from the wall and slam down on the button to shut the door. </p><p>His vision darkens as drags himself painfully up the ladder. He can hear the guy pounding on the door of the ship, but it sounds muffled, like he’s underwater. </p><p>He hesitates to sit down in the cockpit seat, bleeding profusely as he is, but a dangerous sway as he reaches for the first of many buttons convinces him otherwise. He stumbles back, hits the chair hard, but that’s good. It knocks him back into the front of his brain, letting him stay conscious for just long enough to set the ship to leave the planet’s atmosphere. </p><p>He’s so tired. He knows he can’t fall asleep right now, but it seems so, so inviting. Wouldn’t it be nice to just stay here, staring out as the bright stars of the universe rush past him. </p><p>He thinks he might still be awake enough to hear Khobri slide open the cockpit door, but honestly he really can’t tell. Even the stars fade away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaaaa I’m sorry this chapter took me longer than I wanted to to for me to post, it just would not behave. That being said it did gave me a good chance to plan out the next chapter, so look forwards to that ^_^<br/>Either way, thank you so much for reading and comments and kudos are always very much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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